Here, unlike in Blee, under the deep night the moon is intermittently visible, not to mention the sky full of stars.
During dinner, Hannah drank some wine, about half a bottle.
At first, she didn't feel it, but now her neck is red, and her face too, with a bit of warmth rising.
She is drunk, very obedient and quiet, holding her own little face in a daze, causing no trouble at all.
The car stopped, and just as Arnold Simmons was about to tell her not to move, she got out by herself.
She didn't run around, just squatted beside the large stretch of roses, like a wild mushroom, her voice soft and muffled, "Mr. Simmons."
She loves calling him that when she's drunk or has made a mistake.
Because she knows he will soften.
Just like now, those pure eyes are limpid and bright, looking at him with a bit of longing, like a little kitten snuggling against a fluffy carpet, looking up yearningly.
